Flower Gifts
by Arturo Serrano
Summary: Those who fought at Hogwarts' final battle have debts of gratitude they can't forget.


_At the Weasleys'_

Arthur was off to work. After so many years at the Ministry, it had been a pleasant surprise to be offered a post at Hogwarts to teach Muggle Studies, but he had rejected it, feeling it would be too awkward to teach his own grandchildren. So another day began as usual. He kissed his wife goodbye. The dishes flew from the table to the sink, starting to clean themselves. Molly tried not to cry.

The house that for years had felt so crowded, where all her children had barely fit together, was now too large, too empty. She didn't like that thought. Above all, her mind told her, she must not let herself feel alone. Her children had found love in marvelous spouses, and each was raising a family to be proud of.

Then there was Fred. There was no way around it. There would always be Fred.

Her thoughts were interrupted by something knocking at the window. Before she turned to look at it, she had guessed what it would be. She hadn't been consciously expecting it, but it was that time of the year again.

She walked to open the window and let the Longbottoms' owl come in. It carried a heavy package that Molly helped it unload. She gave the bird the scrambled eggs Arthur hadn't finished, kissed its head, and let it go.

Next came the delicate task of unwrapping the package. She had grown accustomed to Neville's handwriting, and knew already what was in the short note that always came with the flowers. _In eternal gratitude_, it said.

Often she had asked her grandchildren to find out the name of the rare Japanese flowers that the Herbology Professor sent her every year, but none could remember what it was exactly. They were of a variety that shone a crystalline white and sang every hour in a celestial voice that very much made up for the clock she had given Harry. They were enchanted to last a full year.

She took the vase that rested on the chimney and removed last year's flowers, which had unnoticedly withered in the course of the morning, and carefully put the new ones in. She walked one step back to look at them. It didn't matter that they looked exactly like the old flowers, like the same flowers she received every year since avenging Neville's parents.

The urge to cry was no longer there.

* * *

_At the Potters'_

It was the first day of the summer holidays. Ginny enchanted the stove to make pancakes, and renewed the cooling charm on the pumpkin juice. Harry was upstairs, cleaning Sirius's old room for the kids' arrival. They would hear them come at any moment.

Ginny was busy commanding an army of napkins to clean the glassware when she heard the knocking.

"Dear, could you get the door?"

Careful not to break her concentration lest two dozen cups fell to the floor, she let the corner of her eye notice Harry jump the stairs and head for the front door, eager to welcome the children. Then the tentacles grabbed his neck, dragging him against the wall, and he began to choke. She forgot about the glasses and ran toward the living room.

"No, not this again," she complained. Harry gave a her a desperate look that basically shouted, _Yes, this again_. She closed the front door, ignoring the owl still perched outside, and grabbed the letter that had fallen on the floor. "I'll get the meat."

He nodded as far as the stranglehold allowed, and fell to his knees as Ginny returned to the kitchen. He struggled to draw out his wand and tried to cast a nonverbal _Expelliarmus_ that failed several times. The tentacles seemed to get angrier at his resistance and, still retaining their grasp, threw him across the living room, overturning the sofa, breaking the portraits, ripping the wallpaper and dislodging one of his shoulders. He stood up as best he could, took the main stem with his good arm, and pulled with all his strength. It was no use. The tentacles threw him to the floor and started banging his head against it, ruining his glasses and making Harry see tiny lights all around him.

"Here. Take this. Here!"

One of the tentacles released Harry's neck and extended toward where Ginny was standing, dangling a cut of raw meat that it couldn't resist. More and more tentacles followed, unable to resist the smell, until Harry was free to breathe and the carnivorous flower made a jump at Ginny, who promptly cast a _Reducto_ that blasted the thing to shreds.

With his good arm Harry put the sofa back in its proper place, and collapsed on it. Ginny opened the letter. "Yes, it's our dear friend Mr. Lovegood again. _For rescuing my Luna from mortal peril, an ever-thankful X.L._"

"Who sends carnivorous flowers as a present?"

"Get used to it. It's going to be the same thing every year."

Harry whispered a careful _Brachia Emendo_ on his shoulder, and let Ginny repair his glasses. As she handed them back to him, she said, "Get up. We still need to get this place ready for the kids."

He groaned at the prospect of having three schoolchildren roaming around the house for the next couple of months. "At least we can blast the flower."

* * *

_At the Malfoys'_

Narcissa no longer tried to keep it a secret. They never received mail. They had no remaining friends who would send as much as an invitation for dinner. Sooner or later Lucius would comment on the single flower that an owl brought her on the same day, every year.

"Won't you tell me who is sending them?"

"I'm not certain. I cannot think of many people who would have a reason to congratulate me for anything."

"Don't you at least recognize the owl?"

"You know it only comes on this day. Who knows who its owner could be."

"Try sending a letter back with the owl. They might respond."

"I tried, the first time."

"And?"

"Nothing. The next year I got another flower."

Lucius was tired of asking questions. He was unsure of what to do: take her unbelievable word for it, or blame her famous talent for lying. He finally left her alone with her thoughts, which the Dark Lord himself had been unable to guess at. The thoughts of a mother.

A mother who had risked everything to see her boy alive again, and who was now thanked for her bravery with the token of another mother who had done the same. She didn't need to ask who sent the flower. She knew what it meant.

She cut the stem and tied the lily to her hair. It was the only day of the year on which she smiled anymore.


End file.
